Fractured
by Xen Silver Quill
Summary: "Most days, Zant could draw on the strength of those around him and find his way again. But today was not one of those days." [When the Usurper King falls apart, his master and partner may not be in time to pick up the pieces. Zant-centric. Team Villain.]


Zant was well known for his pension for hysterics. At this point, his raving fits had simply become part of the routine of battle. His Gerudo master and demon partner did not give it much thought anymore, merely chalking up the screaming and flailing as another of the Twili's many quirks.

On the whole, Zant managed to fight back from the edge of insanity all on his own. He had become markedly more stable with regards to temperment and fighting style. His loyalty to his god kept his priorities on the straight and narrow, and Ghirahim's calm presence was a cooling balm to his fractured mind.

And on those increasingly rare occasions that he was too far gone, someone was always able to call him back. Whether it was Ganondorf or Ghirahim or both, Zant was able to use them to tether himself to reality once more. The touch of the demon's cool hand at his shoulder quenched the fires that threatened to make his heart burst. His master's rich timbre would frighten away the chorus of hissing whispers in his head.

Most days, Zant could draw on the strength of those around him and find his way again.

But today was not one of those days.

* * *

He had not slept in a week - no more than a few hours, anyway. Insomnia hounded the Twili in his waking hours, and nightmares devoured him when he slumbered. His dreams were hardly ever pleasant, but neither had they been so full of painful memory. Visions such as these had not plagued him since he had drifted in the void...

* * *

_"How can you just stand by and do nothing?!" The Twili princeling snarled from his seat at the council table. He shot to his feet so fast that the high-backed chair fell with the force of his movements._

_"Do speak so boldy to us, Prince Zant," rasped the withered husk that was the King of Twilight. "Our firstborn you may be, but your right to speak at this council is by our leave only."_

_Old and blind though he was, the King bore no small familial resemblance to his son. His eyes were the same amber orange, and, before it had gone pale with age, his closely cropped hair had been the same dusty brown. Upon his brow were the glowing, turquoise runes that marked him a member of the royal family, nearly identical to Zant's own._

_The young Twili hissed. "I am the crowned prince and shall speak as I please!"_

* * *

In the day, he brawled more wildly than ever. The Twili's scimitars tasted the blood and gore of a thousand monsters in but a few short hours. His form turned sloppy, and Zant put more far energy into his swings and blows than was necessary.

He fought to the point of utter exhaustion and beyond. Yet even as he was slowly destroying his body from the exertion, he could not find it in himself to care. Anything to achieve that blessed feeling of numbness in his limbs, anything to drown out the dreams and the voices.

For, indeed, there was a method to his more-than-usual madness. Sleep kept fleeing from him like a frightened shadow. So, he reasoned, if rest would not come to him, then he would just have to chase down the elusive beast in the only way knew - by sapping every ounce of wakefulness from his body.

* * *

_"You _will_ stand down, Prince, or we shall-"_

_"Or you shall what? Preen and posture on your crumbling throne as you always do while your domain crumbles around you?" Zant's fingers curled in a death grip around the edge of the table. His pointed teeth were bared in the utmost gesture of disdain and hatred amongst their kind._

_"Are you so ignorant, O King," the prince growled, "that you cannot see the slow death of our people? With every generation we become weaker in body and mind. Our very spirits are as the shade we skulk in. How can you see all of this happen before you and do nothing?"_

* * *

Zant knew better than to let on about his ailment to anyone else. To openly admit such a great weakness would most surely have displeased his master. Ghirahim would likely just laugh and mock the Twili as he was still sometimes wont to do.

The once usurper king had to remain as sharp and unbendable as the steel of his paired swords. Achieving the ultimate goals set by his master was more important than Zant's own concerns by far.

Even with his best efforts, however, he feared that the others knew something was wrong him. Ganondorf, the god that he was, most surely saw through his pretenses to the real issue at hand. Perhaps Ghirahim did not, but no doubt the sword spirit smelled something amiss, too.

Curled in his solitary corner of their camp, he did his best to force sleep upon himself, to muffle his screams of fear and rage in the folds of his robes.

* * *

_Sighing, the Twilight King regarded the prince as one might a maggot in his food. "There is much fire in your heart - perhaps an admirable quality to some, Zant, but also dangerous beyond reckoning. Reckless pride and boldness such as yours drove our ancestors to ruin, to this 'shade,' as you call it. We have justly earned this place for ourselves by the dark and unspeakable sins they committed."_

_He spread his wide-sleeved arms to indicate all around them, and the hooded council members murmured in agreement to his words. "After centuries, we Twili have at last found some measure of peace for ourselves. We have neither enemies nor sickness nor strife in this space between worlds. If anything, our banishment was a blessing, not a punishment. _

_"The restless anger that was our bane in olden days has long since died in the proceeding generations - save for rabble rousers like you. Those like you who leap and bite and chase after the so-called 'glory days' like rabid dogs. You are the one who is blind, Zant, and you are too caught up your vanity to see otherwise."_

* * *

Waking up each morning in a cold and tired sweat illuminated the futility of trying to remedy the situation himself. Draining himself did naught but leave him aching and tired. What magic he possessed was not enough to induce a state of sleep upon himself. Even if he had been able, Zant feared he would make himself that much weaker and that much more useless to his master. Yet he could not give up the effort. He simply could not.

And so the Twili pushed and pushed until, one day, he simply shattered.

* * *

_Zant shook his head in vehement agreement. Near-animal growls mixed with his words as he ranted on, very much like the wretched mongrel his father accused him of being._

_"I refuse to believe that it is 'vanity' to rightfully fear for the future of my people. We were once the most powerful tribe to ever rule the world of Light, and now we are all but *insects in a cage.* Our current state is the fault of an unbroken chain of doddering old fools like you, Father. I ask you: what ruler fitting of his rank allows his subjects to fall so low?"_

_The glint in his father's eyes was cold as the embers of his dull soul. As infuriatingly calm and passionless as ever - just like the rest of the council, just like all the cursed Twili, just like all of them - he stood from his seat. "You go too far, whelp. We have indulged you for long enough. We tell you but once more: rescind your bold speech or the consequences shall hard with you. As your liege and king, I command it."_

_"Never." A few muttered words of a spell under his breath, and a twin set of scimitars formed in Zant's hands. Leaping upon the table, his eyes narrowed to molten slits in his face. His mouth was a rictus of snarling teeth and mad smiles._

_"For years I have waited, hoped and dreamed, for you to see the error of your ways. I see now that such will never come to pass. If you will not act, then I shall take matters into my own hands - starting with the issue of the throne."_

* * *

Something snapped in his skull, making an audible _pop!_ in his ears. One moment he was assisting Ghirahim in the task of felling a group of charging moblins, and the next-

**-unworthydisgracefooldeathblooddisappoinementfoolkillkillkill -**

Voices, silent for months, came flooding in a cacophony. Their taunting words cut into his brain like a thousand shards of glass. The Twili beat and scratched as his own head, trying to douse the maddening buzz-

**\- failurefailureyouwillneverbeworthykillthemmakethembleed -**

When Zant could not soothe the hell blooming within, the chaos turned outwards. Raw, twilit magic flew from his body like flies as he twisted and contorted his form to let it free. It spread in a dark cloud about him, veined with jagged lines of glowing red. Soon it cocooned him, the magic seeking to protect its master from the threats that distressed him so-

**\- itisneverenoughkillkillyouwillalwaysbealoneuslesshelplesskill - **

Throwing back his head, Zant roared his grief to the deaf heavens. For, truly, it was grief that birthed the hot tears falling from his eyes. It was grief that made him scream until his throat was hoarse and dry, and even then he still screamed. He was foolish and useless and unworthy. The Twili was well and truly broken, and he wondered if he had ever been whole to begin with.

**\- banisheddefeatedhatedunwantedunloved - **

"ENOUGH!"

An explosion of heat and light cut through the haze. Cold darkness slammed into him, and everything fell silent again.

* * *

Shame, anger, regret, hatred - everything that had remained coiled in the core of himself for so many years - it was all coming out. Every suppressed emotion he had kept locked away ever since he met Ganondorf, his god and lord.

Once, Zant had been quite the noble prince. A part of him had truly worried for the fate of his people even as his baser instincts hungered merely for the power. That day in the throne room in his ill attempted coup, the former prince lost everything: his family, his throne, his people, and a vital part of himself he would never get back.

It had been gnawing at him from the inside for ages unnumbered, becoming a beast all its own. He had long since forgotten the initial reason for his insanity. His beloved master had become his sole reason for living, and Zant was content with that divine purpose.

And yet his original wound - that which he had lost in the council room - lay festering and untreated. Perhaps that had been the source of his unraveling. Having left it unattended for too long, his unresolved past came back for him. The Twili knew, deep down, that it would continue to haunt him until he ceased to exist altogether, for could such a wound ever truly heal?

* * *

_With the merest flick of his wrist, the Twilit King sent Zant flying against the wall. The back of the prince's skull cracked against the stone, and his the very breath was knocked from his lungs by the impact. His scimitars disintegrated into nothingness, leaving him weaponless and defenseless to his king's wrath._

_"Banished," his father growled. "We hereby strip of your rank and title. You, Zant, are no prince or son to us. You are a disgrace to the royal family and all our race. Begone from this place, and take your poisoned tongue with you."_

* * *

"You are an even greater fool that I thought you to be," was Ghirahim's greeting when Zant finally came around. The demon was in his true form, his pale shell fallen away to reveal the black and white lattice-work of his body. Diamond eyes looked sternly upon the Twili, and he found it difficult not to shrink away from that gaze.

Oh, by the shadows, everything hurt, and he could not so much as twitch from where he lay. "Gh-ghirahim? What h-happened to-?"

Baring his teeth in frustration, the sword spirit looked ready to throttle his battle partner. "You nearly obliterated yourself and us along with you, you damned excuse for an usurper king! That is what happened!"

Zant suddenly realized he was lying on his back on the ground. Gazing at what he could about him, his eyes widened at the destruction about them. A shallow crater formed around them with the Twili at its center. Fires raged on the perimeter and the scent of burning flesh pervaded everything. Ghirahim smelled like heated metal, and Zant guessed that the explosion that created their little crater must have burned the false skin and clothes right of the demon.

"If you were not already half dead," the spirit went on, "I would throttle you with your own gorget. I still ought to after what you put the master and myself through! I-"

"Peace, Ghirahim," came the deep voice of their master. "There will be time later to threaten and cajole later on. Now, however..." Ganondorf's head came into view. His face was a carefully neutral mask as he knelt beside the Twili. Something like black ash stained the front of his armor, and the metal was significantly warped in places. His mane of red hair was mussed and in a general state of disarray.

"I think you owe us an explanation," he rumbled to Zant. "I have sensed something was amiss with you for days now. In battle, in your slumber, you have not rested a moment in the past week. You have purposefully endangered and overexerted yourself, have been careless with your own life and subsequently ours. While I thought that leaving you to resolve the issue on your own would be enough, I now understand that this is not the case."

Disapproval turned the gold of his eyes dark and tugged his lips into a frown. Zant whimpered low in his throat at that look. Where he able to able, he would have prostrated himself on the ground in shame and begged for forgiveness. As it was, he could only close his eyes and await the judgement of his god.

He expected harsh words, punishment by magic or physical means, anything but the strong arms pair of arms that enveloped him in a gentle embrace.

A small gasp escaped his lips as his slight body was pulled against his master's chest. One hand curled around his middle, and the other came to grasp his chin. Zant was forced to look Ganondorf directly, and he was surprised by the barely concealed concern in that gaze.

"Your troubles are our troubles, my strong warrior," his master said in a tone both commanding and soothing. "You, Ghirahim, and I - all three of us - are one. That which affects the one must also affect the others, and we can only succeed when we share the burden between us."

Then he pulled the Twili in until Zant was flush against his shoulder. "Do not to dare to hide something like this from us again," he whispered. "If you were to perish, we would not survive."

Something cold touched his shoulder, and he looked out of the corner of his eye to Ghirahim embracing him, too. His touch was possessive in the closest thing to affection that a demon could feel. "Idiot," the sword spirit muttered in his hear, although there was a hidden endearment in the epithet.

Zant's eyes stung, warmth leaking out the edges. He buried his face in the fur lining of his master's armor, as much to keep himself anchored as to hide his tears. The three of them stayed that way for a long time, the Twili weeping and his master and friend holding him close.

Some wounds could never be healed... but perhaps this was the next best thing.

* * *

A/N: A gift for skullvis on tumblr, inspired by the same. I hope you lovelies are here like it, too. :D

-Xen

*Paraphrased from _The Legend of Zelda Twilight Princess_*


End file.
